The TROLL Experiments
by vivaciousWordsmith
Summary: Doctor Scratch is the world's leading geneticist; one who is not afraid to take the chances other men flinch from. When he is approached by an old friend with a fantastic proposition, he accepts without fully realizing the consequences of his actions...or the events he will set in motion.
1. A Porposition

Doctor Scratch hated paperwork. Hated it with a blazing passion. He hadn't gone to medical school to fill out paperwork, for heaven's sake! Nevertheless, at the end of each test, surgery, etc, he was required to fill out more blasted forms. He tolerated it because it was part of his job, but he longed for the day when he would no longer have to fill out the blasted forms.

He was in his office at the time, his brilliant mahogany desk practically groaning under the weight of all the damn papers. There were no windows in his office; the only light in the room were provided by large round lamps hanging from the ceiling. His walls were painted lime green and were festooned with his many PhDs and some of his favorite newspaper clippings. _Doctor Scratch discovers new genotype, Doc Scratch named "Best Geneticist of Our Time", Doctor Scratch to receive Nobel Prize for Medical Innovations _were next to other, less generous headlines. _Dr Scratch Kills Thousands of Animals During Experiments, Dr Scratch: Butcher, Killer, Torturer, _and _Officials Ask: Is Doc Scratch going Too Far? _to name a few. They still occupied a place of honor on his wall, as did his Nobel Prize. When interviewed, Doctor Scratch had been quite unhelpful to any and all reporters, not replying to any of their questions and instead giving cryptic, confusing and often insulting advice to them. Nonetheless, he was respected by many people, professionals and otherwise.

The phone on his desk rang; he'd insisted on getting an old-fashioned phone with real bells, not one of those cordless chirruping…things. It had taken a long time to have it installed, but it had paid off in the end. Now, however, he glanced at it with the faintest of frowns. He had told his secretary to screen his calls today on account of all the blasted paperwork. With a sigh he picked up the receiver and held it to his ear. "Doctor Scratch."

"I know you told me to screen all your calls today, but it's _urgent." _Regina's voice was tighter than usual, and she was one uptight woman. Something must be wrong, then. "I think you should take this call."

"Regina, how many times have I told you-"

"Doctor, it's _her._"

He sat up in his chair. Regina did not have to elaborate or explain now; he understood well enough. "Very well. Put her on."

There was a click and a moment of silence. Then he heard the soft sound of somebody breathing on the other end. Even though he knew she knew who he was, he introduced himself anyway, as was his custom. "Doctor Scratch speaking." His Southern accent became a little oilier, which was usual when talking to particularly influential people. And boy was this woman influential.

"It's been a long time, Doctor," she purred. "You don't coral me anymore."

"I've been busy," he replied. She was using her fish puns again; time and again he'd almost commented on it, but decided against it. She was far too powerful to risk angering. "My work has been overwhelming lately."

There was a pause on the other end. "Reely? That's too bad. I had a porposition for you, Doctor Scratch."

He leaned back in his plush chair and felt the first flickers of wariness. "Proposition?"

"Yes, Doctor, in return for all those fronds we gave you in the past. You remember, Doctor, when you were just a tiny shrimp in an overwhelming sea, and had nowhere to turn to? You know where that moray came from, don't you?" Her voice was low now, more dangerous and nasty. "It would be unwise to anger him, Scratch."

"Obviously." He sighed and decided that he should at least hear her out. "What is this proposition?"

"There's something you need to do for me." Her voice sped up, as if gripped by a sense of urgency. "It's important to me, Scratch, and important to _him._ Many have tried, and many have failed. Knowing this, will you still accept?"

"It depends on what you want me to do," he said carefully.

"Simple. There will be a box arriving in the mail. Take a look at its contents. Then you can decide whether or not you 'want' to do it." There was a sharp click, followed by dead silence.

Doctor Scratch sighed and placed the receiver back in its cradle. Demanding woman, that one. She was _his _protégé, though, and that demanded respect. Even so, he might put off his answer for as long as he could. Maybe he could get some of his paperwo-

The phone rang again, interrupting his thoughts. He seized it and held it back up to his ear. "Doctor Scratch."

"Doctor, I've just received a notice from the front desk. They say somebody's delivered a package for you."

"Is that so? Well, tell them to bring it up. I'll be waiting." With that, he hung up the phone and started clearing off his desk. The paperwork could wait.

Not five minutes later the door to his office opened, and Regina entered. Regina Noire was a tall and angular woman, with dark skin and hair to match. She wore forest green most of the time, which made her look dark and mysterious. What he liked about her was that she always looked cunning, probably because she was always cunning. He had no idea why he had even bothered with the other temps; Regina ran rings around them. Currently she was struggling with a large wooden box, pinning it under one arm while manhandling the doorknob with the other.

"What the hell is in this thing?" she demanded. "It feels like a thousand lead weights."

"It might be." Doctor Scratch took the box from her and placed it on his desk. "You may go, Regina."

She blinked at him before turning smartly on her heel and storming out. Such an amusing woman. Doctor Scratch smiled slightly before turning his attention to the box.

It was wooden, surprising in this era of flimsy cardboard and packing tape. Luckily Doc Scratch had a crowbar on hand and managed to pry the lid off without much effort. There was no straw or other packing material in the box, suggesting that its journey had not been particularly arduous. A manila envelope sat on top, obscuring everything else from view. Doc Scratch removed it and set it aside. Paperwork could still wait.

Lying directly beneath the manila envelope was a smaller paper box. There was a key and a piece of paper inside this smaller box. The paper proclaimed that he was the owner of a warehouse in Death Valley, and he supposed the key went to its door. Now why would she send him this? Beneath that box was yet another box. This other box was made of metal and stamped with the label _WARNING: CONTAINS BIOHAZARDOUS MATERIAL._

Doctor Scratch decided it was time to open the envelope. He undid the little metal fastening and let the contents slide out. Pictures, x-rays, documents, and a letter were soon spread all over his desk. He noticed the fuchsia handwriting on the letter and picked it up. Sure enough, it was her handwriting. He recognized her peculiar quirk.

_Doctor Scratc)(, _

_Believe me, if t)(ere was anybody else I could turn to, I wouldn't )(ave bot)(ered you wit)( t)(is, w)(at wit)( you being so busy. )(owever, after many years of searc)(ing, I )(ave finally admitted that you are the only one w)(o can address my…seadicament._

_The box contains twelve samples of alien blood. Your job is to splice t)(eir genetic code wit)( t)(at of a )(uman's. I can't say anenomore t)(an t)(at; after all, it's YOUR job, not MIN-E. _

_We'll be watc)(ing, Scratc)(. _

_PS The red one is ABSOLUT-ELY irreplaceable. Don't lose it._

Interesting. Doctor Scratch turned his attention to the metal box. Alien blood? It couldn't be…but he was still curious. First he searched for a way to open the container. There was no latch, but he did notice two buttons on either side of the box. When he pressed them, there was a sharp _click _and a loud _hiss_ of released pressure, and then the box's lid rolled smoothly back and away. Mere seconds later, amidst a cold cloud of vapor, a small platform started rising up from the depths of the box. It came to rest with a smaller click. Sitting upon the platform was a set of test tubes. It had two rows of six each, twelve tubes total. He gingerly lifted them from the box and examined them. A different colored liquid sloshed around inside of them; from what he could see, no two colors were the same. He grabbed the nearest one and held it up to the light. The liquid inside was thick and viscous, like blood, except that it was colored _blue. _He replaced it and grabbed another. Olive green and also very much like blood. He picked up another one. Mustard yellow. He grabbed another. Cerulean. He looked at them all in turn; rust red, orange-brown, royal purple, fuchsia, jade green, teal and indigo colored blood. God, it was so unreal, but the blood samples were positively stunning nonetheless.

He was about to put them away when he realized he'd missed one. When he lifted it up to the light, he thought she was having him on. This blood was red, like a human's blood when it was oxygenated. Surely this was a human's blood, and not an alien's. The others must have had some form of coloring added. Then he looked at the documents. Apparently, she had gone to four other doctors before approaching him. None of them had produced the results they wanted, and all of them claimed, in their reports, that it was impossible and inhumane. _'It is impossible to splice the human genome with samples such as our benefactor provided,' _one doctor wrote. _'They are completely unknown and therefore incompatible.'_

Completely unknown and therefore incompatible. That would suggest that the samples were genuine. Where others might be floored by this revelation, Doctor Scratch was merely intrigued. So there was such a thing as aliens after all…and she wanted him to splice their genome with that of a human's? To what end? Why would she want him to do such a thing?

Doctor Scratch shook his head and replaced the tube of red blood. In the end, did it matter why she wanted him to do this? Here was one of the most revolutionary experiments of the decade, an experiment she had practically given to him. If successful, it had the potential to mark his name in the history books for all time. Sure, there was a risk, but wasn't there one in every experiment? And as for the human factor, Doctor Scratch knew perfectly well it was every scientist's secret dream to test his theories on a living human being, but most were too engrossed in the binds of 'morally acceptable actions' to act on their wildest fantasies.

This had never been a problem for Doctor Scratch.

A slow smile stretched over his face as he reached for his telephone. He dialed the number of Regina's phone and waited. As soon as he heard the line pick up he said, "Regina, I want you to cancel all of my current contracts. Tell them something else has come up that needs my immediate attention."

There was a brief pause. "…All of your contracts, Doctor?"

"All of them."

Regina was quiet for a moment before saying, "Whatever you want, Doctor." He chuckled and was about to hang up when she added, "Also you have a call waiting on line two. Just came though, from the looks of it."

Doctor Scratch laughed again. That woman had the most excellent timing. "Put her on, Regina."

There was a sharp click, and then the familiar voice was oozing in his ear once again. "Well? Water you say?"

Doctor Scratch leaned back in his chair again. From this angle he could see the light glinting off the twelve test tubes, giving the liquid within the appearance of so many precious gemstones. "My dear Condesce," he purred, "I would be more than happy to take your offer."

Her Imperious Condescension laughed wildly at this. "As I knew you would. When can you start?"

"I've got no prior agreements, so I could start by, say, lunchtime?"

Her voice dropped to a low purr. "I knew you wouldn't disappoint me, Scratch."

One pale brow arched over Doctor Scratch's ice-colored eyes. "Of course not. Apart from losing the opportunity of the century, it's plain rude to say no to a pretty lady like yourself. I'm nothing if not a gentleman."

"I know you are, Scratch. I know you are." She hung up without another word, as was her custom. Scratch wasn't too chuffed about this. It was in her nature to be rude to those she thought beneath her.

Besides, he had work to do.

* * *

_A/N: As most of you are no doubt aware, this is a relatively new venture for me. I thought about it for a rather long time, and decided that I would rather start posting this story now than wait until In Nomine Patris is finished. Maybe it'll be more difficult, but who knows, it could be fun!_

_Welp, see y'all later!_


	2. Setting Up

Doctor Scratch's first order of business was to call a friend of his who happened to be a contractor. A warehouse, which might be fine for storing boxes, was not the place to be conducting any sort of experiment, but particularly experiments of this delicate nature. With help from his friend, he hoped to…_improve _the design a little. Fortunately it wouldn't cost him a penny; some time ago this friend had gotten into bad financial trouble, and Doctor Scratch had bailed him out. In return, he would make all the improvements and build a few extra buildings-all for free.

Next he started contacting medical schools. Some were schools he'd never heard of, some were the more famous ones, and some he'd personally attended. To each representative who answered he told the same thing: he was conducting an experiment and would require interns to assist him, but only had slots for fifty or so. When asked about the nature of the experiment, he would only say that it involved human genetics; which it did, but not entirely. Each rep assured him that there would be no shortage of students willing to assist him, which pleased Doctor Scratch to no end. While the decision to 'hire' help had been a hard one, he had admitted that he was only human and could not do everything. Still, there was no need to tell the help every little thing, was there?

Finally he told Regina to start calling orphanages and children's shelters. When she asked why, he simply said, "Only ask for children between the ages of three and nine," before walking off. Regina had looked after him, scoffed once, and then picked up the phone and dialed the first number she could think of. This age span was perfect, in Doc Scratch's opinion; babies were too much of a hassle to deal with, and preteens were too old for the method he'd decided on. It had to be children old enough to take care of themselves, but young enough to not show or feel the first signs of puberty. This would ensure that he would have absolute success, which was important if he wanted to look forward to having any sort of life whatsoever.

Within the space of one week, everything was going as Scratch had planned. Construction on the warehouse was underway, resumes from medical students were coming in daily, and Regina had over one hundred and fifty test subjects lined up already. All that was left was to pick his prospective interns and book passage to California. Doctor Scratch allowed a small smile to briefly light upon his lips. Everything was proceeding smoothly and quickly, just the way he liked it.

Many of the following days were spent looking over the resumes from the different medical schools. Doctor Scratch's preferences were simple; he wanted serious and quiet students, preferably those who were well-rounded and willing to take risks. Immediately omitted were resumes with too little information, not enough experience, simplistic jargon, and those with 'talkative', 'fun-loving', and 'not good with kids' in their personal descriptions. Soon he had whittled down the thousands of prospects into the fifty he thought best for the job. These people he would call in for separate interviews later on.

One month later, everything was ready. The renovations were complete, the interns had all been hired and the test subjects-numbering just over one thousand one hundred-would be shipped to the facility a week at a time. It was now time for Scratch to pack up and leave for California. He would not be traveling by plane; they were far too crowded and noisy for his tastes. Buses were also out of the question, so he had bought train tickets instead. It was a long trip, but he had booked an entire car for himself and Regina, so it wasn't as bad as a plane or a bus. The precious samples of blood were beneath his seat, safely ensconced in the wooden box. He spent the duration of the trip going over his planned experiments, checking and double-checking his theoretical procedures. Regina was on her laptop, filing away all the interns' information…including the secret videos of their interviews.

Doctor Scratch's first impression of California was as follows: too bright, too cheery, and fake as a bottle of snake oil. Everywhere he looked he saw bleached blond hair, over-bright teeth, too tight clothes and plastic. Somehow the sun seemed ten times brighter here than back in the South. He felt like it might burn him up if he so much as stepped out into the light. Gritting his teeth, Doctor Scratch hurried through the train station, Regina hot on his heels. They quickly collected their luggage and exited the building. As expected, there was a white limousine waiting for them at the curb. The driver took their luggage and placed it in the trunk while they hurried into the lovely air-conditioned depths of the limo. A bottle of Scratch's favorite brandy was placed in a bucket of ice beside his seat, and he was quite pleased to indulge himself. The samples were placed in their own seat with a belt buckled securely over them. Regina kept an eye on them while she finished updating the database. When he was finished placing the luggage in the trunk, the driver got into the limo and started driving away. Fifteen minutes later, they were speeding toward Death Valley at a reasonable clip.

It was a two hour drive to get to Death Valley, but Scratch was in no way bored. He was going over his plans for the facility with Regina. They were certain they would need more help besides the medical students, so Regina was drafting a list of what help they might need; janitors, chefs, teachers and technicians, just to name a few. Doctor Scratch trusted her to make the right decisions about the help, but he was still going to give them the same contract he had given the interns.

He had just looked up from the research notes on the alien blood when he saw it. Oh, what a beautiful sight it was! Cresting a low sandy hill was a sprawling complex of white buildings, with the ex-warehouse at its center. They stood tall and proud and looked refreshingly sterile. Surrounding the entire complex was a chain-link fence with barbed wire looped around the top bar. Doctor Scratch couldn't be sure, but he thought it might be electrified. If it wasn't, he would make sure it was. He smiled at the thought; he liked this experiment more and more every minute.

The limousine pulled up in front of the gate, and the driver rolled down his window to punch a code into a little metal box. It gave a satisfied chirp and the gates rolled open. "We've arrived, Doctor Scratch," the driver announced. "Where do you want me to take you?"

"Take us to the main building. We need to settle into the new office." The driver nodded imperceptibly and started off toward the ex-warehouse. He stopped outside its doors, and the passengers exited the car. Waves of desert heat slammed into them and hastened their entrance into the facility. Cool welcoming air embraced them as the opaque glass doors slid back with a soft _whoosh. _Just beyond the doors was a long hallway, which Doctor Scratch was already thinking about repurposing. An experiment like this one would need security as tight as Fort Knox.

His offices were deep in the heart of the building, past all the empty rooms and vacant labs. It was painted green, like his old office was, and contained all of his old furniture (shipped by express train shortly before he himself departed). There was his grand mahogany desk, his overstuffed chair, all his diplomas and headlines, and (of course) his five lime green grandfather clocks. This office was even bigger than his last office, so instead of feeling crowded, it was rather spacious, even accounting for the five clocks. Doctor Scratch settled back into his chair, feeling ridiculously pleased with himself.

Even though he had arrived at his facility, Doctor Scratch was by no means ready to start his experiments. He had no equipment save Regina's laptop and the blood samples, and that was nowhere close enough to what he would need, so the next week was spent ordering the necessary equipment and hiring people to keep the stuff in check. Computers, beakers, x-ray machines, MRIs, and syringes started coming in, with much more on the way. With luck, the testing facility would be up and running by the end of the month.

Luck, it seemed, was indeed on Doctor Scratch's side. By the end of the month, he had a fully functional testing facility on his hands. There was medical equipment in the labs and computers in the classrooms. The help was hired and ready to work. The first of the medical students would be arriving shortly; the test subjects would come sometime after the last interns. The front hallway now contained metal detectors and full-body scanners, and the doors had alarms wired to them. You could never be too cautious, in Scratch's not so humble opinion. And Scratch was nothing if not cautious.

* * *

When the University of Washington had gotten the call from Doctor Scratch, Jane Crocker had been excited and nervous at the same time. She was not too interested in the medical profession, but she wanted to become a detective some day, and according to her research, they needed to have at least a little bit of experience in the medical field to help on cases and whatnot. Interning with Doctor Scratch was the best way to get this experience, her professor had told her. That was why she felt excited; she was one step closer to her dream job.

Her nervousness arose when she had been interviewed by Doctor Scratch himself. Her instincts (very important for a future detective to have) told her that the soft-spoken Southern gentleman was hiding something. His smile was only skin deep, and his ice-colored eyes were completely emotionless. Jane had answered all his questions to the best of her ability, but she was sure she would lose the internship. Imagine her surprise when she realized she already had the job!

The flight to California only took a few hours; it wasn't long from Washington to California, after all. Jane spent most of it reading her favorite book: a collection of Hercule Poirot stories. The landing jarred her out of it, and moments later the pilot announced their arrival in Los Angeles. Jane closed the book and tucked it into her canvas tote bag. Time to arrange a ride to…where was it?

As expected, she had to get searched at the airport, which was crazier than a crowded street in New York. She held her bag protectively in front of her and dragged her oversized suitcase behind her. Everywhere she looked she saw another unfamiliar face. _'Land sakes, there has to be thirty thousand people here!'_

"Jane? Jane Crocker?"

She turned around, surprised to hear her name being called. Her surprise only increased when she saw a blond girl in a purple dress hurrying toward her, her duffle bag bouncing eagerly beside her. It was Roxanne Lalonde, one of her very best internet pals. She spent most of her time drunk off her ass, yet still seemed smarter than half the students in her class. She hoped to become a doctor one day, so she supposed it wasn't _that _surprising for her to intern with Doctor Scratch, but Roxy lived on the East coast; why would Doctor Scratch recruit people from so far away?

Still, she was happy to see her friend. "Roxy Lalonde, what on Earth are you doing here?"

"Wha's it look like I'm doin', Janey girl? I'm lookin' for something to drink! I haven't had booze in…what, one hour? That has to be some sorta record." Roxy grimaced at this. "I'm startin' to feel sober. Not a good thing."

"You know, Roxy dear, you destroy your liver more and more with every drink," Jane chided.

Roxy waved her hand dismissively. "Whatev's."

"Really, though, what are you doing here?"

"Some guy offerin' internships for prospective doctors." Roxy studied Jane's face, some of her drunken silliness evaporating. "S'that why you're here?"

"Yeah, I…yeah." She swallowed and licked her lips; it suddenly seemed like all the air had been sucked out of her lungs. While seeing her best internet chum was awesome, it was quite strange. No words seemed sufficient to describe her excitement cum confusion.

"Well, s'no use standin' around natterin'," Roxy slurred. "Le's get a move on!" She ran forward and seized the arm of Jane's jacket, and, without further ado, she began dragging her toward the door.

Surprisingly, there were four other students clustered around a man in a dark suit. He had a sign in his hands that read "Interns of Doctor Scratch" in flowing old-fashioned script. Roxy looked over at Jane and cocked one brow. Jane shook her head; she had no idea what was going on either. Nobody sent anybody for students.

When Jane and Roxy were also standing beside the suited man, he turned sharply on his heel and started walking away, the sign tucked against his side. The suited figure led them to a black van in the middle of the carpool lane. Jane groaned when she saw it; really, a black van in California? It was going to be Hell in a saucepan in there, she just knew it. Roxy didn't seem to give a shit, but that could have been because she was taken by all the 'damn hot duh-hoods' on the sidewalk. Mr. Suit opened the back doors of the van for them and ushered them inside without a word. Jane paused before entering and looked him right in the eye.

"Where are the others?" she asked, with a tone of voice suggesting Mr. Suit was a dog who had done something naughty. "There's supposed to be scads of us."

"They're coming," he rumbled. Jane took a step back; his voice was such a deep bass rumble it made thunder seem like a phone vibration. "In their own time. You are the first." He then placed one of his beefy hands between Jane's shoulder blades and pushed her onto the van. She sat down between Roxy and some other dude, feeling quite intimidated. Mr. Suit moved around to the driver's side and quickly hauled his muscled girth into the seat. "Hold tight back there; ride's not exactly smooth," he roared. Then the van lurched forward, and before Jane or Roxy could grab onto something and keep from falling over, they were speeding down the highway.

In no time at all, Jane felt quite sick to her stomach. She hadn't gotten over her jet-lag from her five hour long flight down from Washington, and Mr. Suit was weaving in and out of traffic with such speed it made the van seem more like a roller coaster car. What made her feel worse, and envious, was that Roxy was completely unaffected by the ride. She complained loudly about there being no booze and hit on one of the male students, just like Roxy Lalonde would normally do. The would-be detective was wondering if this was a result of years of binge drinking, or if Roxy just happened to be some strange form of human who did not suffer nausea.

One hour later, the ride evened out, and Jane stopped feeling like she was about to lose her breakfast. She could just barely see out of the van's front windshield, and noticed that there seemed to be no city in sight. On the contrary, the country she saw was all vast desert and scrub bushes, with some purplish-blue mountains in the distance.

"Where the devil are we?" she asked.

Roxy craned her neck to see over the front seats. "Dunno. Must be out in'a middle a nowhere," she commented blearily. "Damn, hope they have decent booze out there. I'm not feelin' too hot."

"Good, cause I'm roasting," Jane sighed. It was true; as she suspected, the black van was soaking up heat like a vast metal sponge, and the small puffs of air from the AC did nothing to reduce the feeling that they were all being roasted alive.

"You know s'not what I mean."

"I know, Roxy. I know."

Sixty minutes after that, the van grinded to a halt. "We have arrived," Mr. Suit boomed. "Gather all your possessions and exit the vehicle. You will enter the front doors of the building in single file. Prepare to be searched."

"Searched? Whatever for?" Jane goggled at Mr. Suit; surely this wasn't normal procedure for greeting new employees?

Mr. Suit just glowered at her. "I don't make the rules, girl, Doctor Scratch does, and if you don't like 'em, you can fly back home to Mommy."

"Well, I never!" Jane stuck her nose up in the air and promptly stormed out of the van, her bags clutched to her chest.

"Do'bag," Roxy grumbled. "Now, where we going?"

Jane gestured vaguely toward the large white building in front of them. "I'd guess there."

They started moving toward the building in a large clump; nobody seemed too keen on being the brave man in front. The doors slid aside as soon as the first person reached them, so they all went in together. Jane caught a glimpse of a long white hall and several shining machines before a vast person stepped in front of them.

He was, if it was possible, even larger than Mr. Suit. Ropes of muscle stood out like hams on his arms and legs, and his thick fingers looked like sausages. He wore fingerless gloves, which stood at odds with his dark, crisp suit. "Right," he grunted. "I'm Canseco Greene, but everybody calls me Cans. Got it?" They all nodded obediently. "You're the first guys here, so you're in charge a telling everybody this: if any of you lot try anything smart (or stupid) you deal with me, got that?" They nodded again; more than one person swallowed nervously. "Now, I want you to step forward _one at a time _an' put all yer bags through the x-ray machine. Any of you object, well, you'll be talkin' to my lovely assistants." He brandished his fists in a way that left them in no doubt as to whom his 'assistants' were.

'_This is completely unnecessary! If we were carrying anything dangerous, the airport surely would have found it!' _Jane complained internally, but she didn't dare voice her thoughts aloud. Just looking at Cans' huge arms made her nervous. She kept her head down and ran her bags through the scanner and walked through the huge full body doohickey without a single word. Quite unusually for her, Roxy did the same, just letting her bag pass through the scanner without saying anything…at least until the alarm went off.

"Contraband!" Cans bellowed, and quickly hefted the bag toward him. He rummaged around the bag for a couple of seconds, and then he pulled out a single bottle of Jack Daniels out into the open.

"So I _did _pack some extra booze!" Roxy sounded perfectly elated at this seemingly unexpected revelation. "Praise Jonny, Molly an' Jegus!"

Cans did not share Roxy's enthusiasm. "Girl, did you not read your contract?"

"Sure I did…I's just drunk as heck." Roxy grinned cheekily up at the gigantic bear of a man. Jane groaned and buried her face in her hands. "Why's you askin'?"

"Cuz yer ain't supposed to bring alcohol onto the premises, girl. It's against the rules." Cans tucked the whisky into one of his gigantic pockets. "Gonna have to confiscate it."

Roxy's face fell. "But…but mah booze! You can't keep a gal from her Jackie boy, can yah?"

Cans leaned over, moving until his nose was barely an inch away from Roxy's. "I can, girl, an' I can beat the stuffin' out of ya if'n you keep this racket up. Move on an' be glad I didn't tear you limb from limb. Next time…might not be so lucky."

Roxy swallowed, but did not say anything. She gathered up her boozeless bag and started trudging off down the hall. Jane hastened to follow after her, the wheels of her suitcase squeaking a bit on the immaculate tiles. "Roxy, wait up!"

Roxy did not halt, nor did she slow her pace. "S'place sucks," she grumbled.

Jane couldn't help but smile at this. "You should be glad you got away with your neck, Roxy dear. That Cans fellow could have shredded you."

"Whatev's." Roxy's reply was not as nonchalant as she intended it to be, and she quickly dropped the subject.

There were more of the suited men beyond the detectors; these started shepherding the interns into a large hall with a stage at one end and a small room at the other end. It reminded Jane of her elementary school cafeteria, except much less colorful, and sans all the noise. Nobody was talking to each other, which Jane thought was both strange and ominous. How could it be that so many young men and women could be in the same room and not want to socialize? Then she saw the suited men lining the walls and felt her voice die in her throat. _'What have I gotten myself into?'_

One of the suited men clambered onto the stage and made his way over to a microphone set in the exact center. He flicked it with his fingers, and there were corresponding booms from hidden speakers set all around the room. More than one person flinched and covered their ears.

"A'ight, I know it's working, then." The man cleared his throat and began addressing the crowd. "Femmes and gents, I am Benedict Greene, but ev'rybody calls me Eggs." Even though this was a highly amusing nickname, nobody dared laugh. Nobody wanted to know _how _he got that nickname, after all. "As you may or may not know, you are here because Doctor Scratch thought you were the best of your kind; that is, the brightest and best medical minds this great country has to offer." Quite a few people smiled at this, and Jane felt a mild sense of surprise. Praise of this sort didn't usually come from a man who looked rather like a nineteen twenties gangster. "However," he continued, "that _does not _mean you can treat this job like some sorta joke. If we don't think you're serious enough for this, then we'll…_escort _you off the premises." Eggs grinned and cracked his knuckles. "Don't think we won't."

"Now, I think there's about fifty of yah here, so I'll turn this over to the man himself. Femmes and gents, may I present to you, the one and only Doctor Scratch!" He bowed and gestured to his left with both arms.

As though he was about to receive an award on national TV, Doctor Scratch sauntered out from backstage. His white suit was spotless, and his coat even more so. He inclined his head to Eggs, who quickly got off the stage to rejoin his fellow suited men. Doctor Scratch turned to the microphone and flicked it once. "I'm glad you didn't forget to leave the microphone on, Eggs," he commented drily. "You do have an abysmally poor memory."

Eggs flushed bright red, and several people let out nervous titters. These quickly died out as Doctor Scratch turned his icy cold eyes on them. "Do you remember what Eggs just told you?" Nobody said anything, so Doctor Scratch went on. "This is a serious environment, after all, and I'd hate to send any of you off for being immature." His tone of voice suggested that he would very much enjoy watching his cronies carrying off a misbehaving student. His smile widened ever so slightly, but other than that he showed no emotion.

"Now, I'm sure y'all are wondering the same thing," he drawled. "'Why on Earth has crazy ol' Doc Scratch summoned me out to the middle of nowhere?' It's because I am conducting a groundbreaking experiment, one that will take this world by storm." Doctor Scratch paused, possibly to let the gravity of his statement sink in. When he deemed they were suitably astonished, he continued. "Unfortunately, due to the nature of these experiments, I have been forced to come out here to Death Valley, where we might get some peace. Any of you have a problem with that, well, I'm sure Cans can show you the door." He let out one short laugh at his own joke, which nobody else found remotely funny.

"As to the nature of these experiments, all I can say at this moment is that it concerns some of the most controversial genetics seen in this era of humanity. If it succeeds, we will have successfully perfected splicing of two separate genomes, and will open up new possibilities to cure previously lethal diseases!" Many people clapped at this, albeit timidly, but grew more bold as Doctor Scratch took a sweeping bow. Jane did not join in with her comrades. As before, something about Doctor Scratch's soft voice set her instincts tingling. He wasn't telling them everything, she was _sure _of it. If his research was really as groundbreaking as he said it was, surely he would be in a facility in D.C. or some other important place? She glanced over and saw Roxy wasn't clapping either.

"You'll have a day to settle in," he told them. "Your room assignments will be posted in the main hallway; each of you will share a room with one other person, which I'm sure you're used to. I must warn you that if I hear about any unauthorized parties…there will be _dire _consequences." He gave them all a wolfish smile that did absolutely nothing to warm his wintry eyes. "Off y'all go now. I'll be seein' you bright and early to start the testing."

One brave person in the audience raised their hand. Doctor Scratch looked pointedly over at the student and raised one pale brow. "Young man, is this an elementary school?" When he didn't answer right away, Doctor Scratch continued. "And are you an elementary school student?" The unfortunate intern shook his head. "Then you'll only ask questions when I decide it's time for question, and right now I don't feel like dealing with questions. I have a job to do, even if yours hasn't started yet."

"But sir!" the intern blurted. "Me and my friends were gonna buy an apartment in the city, we don't need to-"

One of the suits bellowed "SHUT UP! NOBODY TALKS WHILE DOC SCRATCH IS ON THE PODIUM!" Jane jumped, as did half of the interns in the room. He scowled at them and turned back to the doctor. "Back to you, Doc."

"Thank you, Crowbar. Now, as for _you…_" Doctor Scratch's voice became extra oily and condescending as he looked down at the intern who had spoken out. "I'm afraid I can't let you buy an apartment, not unless you can conjure up the funds yourself, which I highly doubt. Furthermore, I need all of you on the premises at all times, save for weekends and vacations, which I will give you." Scratch feigned hurt at the surprised gasps from some of his interns. "Really, did you think I had brought you here merely to torture you? I'm hurt; in the end, I am a good host, and I wish to take care of you while you are here." He gave an ironic little bow at the end of this little declaration before shooing them away with a sweep of his arm. "Now off with you."

Resigned to another few minutes of hauling luggage, Jane grabbed the handle of her suitcase and started dragging it away. Nobody spoke until they got out of the hall, and out of the hearing range of the suited men. "What's his deal?" somebody complained.

"He's a nut! Don't you read the papers?" somebody else replied. "God, if I wasn't desperate for money, I would _not _have taken this job."

"For a nut, he seemed oddly…sane," Jane commented under her breath.

"Crazy ones always do," Roxy muttered back. "S'how they tell their mind's downa toilet."

"Good point. Still…there's something _wrong _about him. I just wish I could put my finger on it."

The girls continued down the hall and stopped beside a large poster that had been tacked to a bulletin board. There was already a small cluster of people gathered around the board, and they had to work to see what they were staring at. It turned out to be the room assignments Doctor Scratch was talking about; Jane craned her neck and saw her name and Roxy's next to the number 413B. She was glad she and Roxy were rooming together; God help her if she was unable to see her best and only friend.

"Well, I guess we're off to room four-one-three b, my friend." Jane grabbed Roxy's elbow with her free hand and started dragging her away. Roxy batted her hand away and ran ahead of her. Jane ended up chasing her down the hallway, rolling her eyes exasperatedly and fighting back a wild laugh.

Room 413B was, unsurprisingly, located in building number four. There was an envelope stuck to the gleaming wooden door with a piece of masking tape. Jane reached up, ripped it off and tore it open. Inside were two brass keys and a note. _Keep them close._ With a roll of her eyes, she took one of the keys and stuck it in the matching brass doorknob. The door swung open without so much as a whisper.

Despite Jane's fears about the place being too small, it was really not so bad. It was slightly bigger than your average dorm room, and painted a pleasing shade of mint blue. There were two beds situated in the corners and a small TV set on top of a black mini-fridge. Another door was set in the space between the beds, presumably leading to a bathroom. Two dressers sat in the hallway on either side of the door; there were mirrors on top of these and a closet to their left. There was even a shelf and a cupboard on top of the closet, which was a sight better than most dorm rooms.

Behind her, Roxy let out a low whistle. "Damn, gurl, this's a nice place! Be a damn sight better wif some booze, but you can't win 'em all. Sides, I'm could prolly procure some."

"Roxy, don't you start that! Honestly, sometimes I think you have liqueur running through your veins instead of blood. You can survive for a couple of weeks without alcohol! Besides, do you really want to cross that Cans bloke?" Jane put her hands on her hips and glared scathingly at her friend. "He'll probably kill you, Ro-Lal."

Roxy shrugged. "Let 'im try. Could use th'exercise."

The topic was quickly dropped, and the girls spent a good fifteen minutes getting settled in. After placing all her toiletries in the bathroom, Jane carefully taped up her poster of Jeff Foxworthy; such a smashing bloke, she thought with a small giggle. Roxy was busy placing what she insisted was a petrified mutated cat on her nightstand, though Jane thought it looked more like a shapeless black blob. Their clothes were hung in their closets and their personal effects were stowed away. With that all done and nothing good on TV, they decided to explore the rest of their building.

Their neighbors across the hall were still getting moved in. To Roxy's absolute delight, one of them was a tall blond-haired boy who looked like he'd just walked out of an anime. His hair was spiked impossibly high; Jane wondered just how much product he used to get it to look so stiff. His sunglasses were like two scalene triangles smashed together, and obscured his eyes completely. He had the amazing fortune of having a physique that was neither too skinny nor too buff. It also happened to be displayed to perfection, seeing as he was wearing a black wifebeater and tight jeans. He turned around when he heard their door slam shut. One pale eyebrow could be seen rising behind the spiky lens of his shades.

"You the neighbors, then?" His voice was disinterested in the way that suggested he thought he was the shit. Before they could answer, he strode forward and held out one hand. "Dirk Strider."

"Roxy Lalonde!" Roxy practically flattened Jane in her attempt to get over to the cool guy. "Duh-_hood, _your glasses are _cool_!" She seized his hand and began shaking it like it was a pump handle.

The corner of Dirk's mouth twitched. "I know." He removed his hand from Roxy's enthusiastic grasp and turned to Jane. "And you are?"

"Jane Crocker. Pleased to meet you." Her voice was a little curter than normal; she wasn't sure she approved of Mr. Strider and his chilly manner. "Forgive my asking, but why are you interning with Doctor Scratch? You don't seem like a doctor-in-training."

She didn't know if it was his shades or his manner, but Dirk Strider showed no emotion at her less than polite question. "Nah, doctoring ain't my thing. I'm more into robotics and shit. One of my professors suggested that I do prosthetics, so I nabbed up the internship as soon as I saw it. Figured I could knock out a degree in medicine this way."

Somebody in the room suddenly shouted, "Dirk, old fellow, I don't think these turntable doodads of yours are gonna fit in here!"

"Hang on," he muttered, then he shouted, "Dammit, English, what did I tell you? Don't touch the fucking turntables!"

"Well, how else am I s'posed to get them in here?" There was a rustle, a clunk, and then footsteps were approaching the door. "Blow on them?"

"No, you leave my shit alone and deal with your shit." Dirk might have rolled his eyes, but it was impossible to tell beneath the shades. "Now come out and say hi to our new neighbors. Be fucking sociable."

"I'm not the antisocial one, sirrah." A dark figure loomed in the doorway of room 413A, drawing nearer and nearer until-

If Jane had been an anime character, this would have been the part where her jaw dropped and hit the floor. The guy walking toward them was cute in a bishie sort of way; his hair was spiky, like Dirk's, except his was all natural and jet black. His eyes were dark green and sparkling brightly behind a square pair of glasses. His clothes were not radically cool like his friend's, but well-worn and obviously well-loved. He wore a white t-shirt beneath a green jacket, khaki shorts and white tennis shoes. He eyed the women with eager interest and hopped forward.

"New neighbors! And such pretty fillies, too! Capital!" His British accent was a little too posh to be real, yet it wasn't so thick that it was completely faked, either. "Name's Jake English, and I'm Dirk's roommate. Also," he lowered his voice in a secretive way, "if any blaggard tries to do either of you beauties wrong, I'll be the first to show him what for!"

Roxy laughed and offered her hand. "Gotta love a gallant dude, eh Jane?"

Jane swallowed and managed a weak, "Of course." Jake shook both of their hands enthusiastically and bounded back to Dirk's side. "Welp, gotta get these turntables in place, then. I still don't know how you got the blasted things past airport security."

"I got moves you've never seen, English. So many moves." The two boys turned back and walked into their room, bickering amiably all the way.

"Welp, I'm off," Roxy announced. "Gotta see what's for eatin' around this place. Wanna come?"

"No, I think I'm done for the day. Still feeling the effects of that dratted jet-lag." Jane feigned a yawn and stretched. "Could you bring me something?"

"O'course!" Roxy gave a small wave before jogging off down the corridor. "Later, Crocker!"

Jane turned back and went into their shared room. The bed already had crisp white sheets and a thick blanket upon it, which was a relief. She didn't feel like making a bed right now. God, she was so tired; first the plane ride, then the ride out here, and _then _she had to sit around and be threatened by everybody in the blasted place. It was an apprehensive start to what was starting to look like a poor choice for an internship.

'_What the hell have you and I gotten ourselves into, Roxy?'_


	3. New Arrivals

Even though it was barely six o'clock in the morning, Doctor Scratch was already up and about. It was imperative that he start the first stage of his experiment today, and he was so excited at this prospect that he was barely able to sleep. Despite this lack of sleep, he still looked as immaculate as ever, resplendent in a white suit and coat, and felt as alert as ever he did. At that moment he was heading to the main laboratory, which would be the nerve center of his entire operation. As soon as he got everything off the ground, anyway.

When he arrived at the lab, his first order of business was to gather all his materials together. _'Twelve blood samples? Check. Adenoviruses? Check. Now where did I put my microscope?' _Several minutes of searching later, Scratch found the microscope tucked away in a top cabinet. Tamping down the brief flicker of irritation at this, Scratch set the microscope down on the shining white counter before turning to the dark LCD television screens set on either side of the counter. "On," he commanded. At once both screens shone with light and displayed a menu of different items. "Structure of adenovirus sample." Both screens shifted to show a model of an adenovirus, blown up to many times its natural size. With a small nod, Doctor Scratch grabbed one of the vials of blood and the adenoviruses, and promptly sat down behind his microscope.

However, when he took a look at the notes in the Condesce's file, he noticed something he hadn't before; a neat paper bearing the title '_Concerning the Red Blood'. _Intrigued, Scratch halted his endeavors with the microscope and started riffling through the paper. While he didn't read the whole thing, he got enough out of it to gather why most of the scientists had quickly given up on the Condesce's seemingly mad idea. Apparently, she wanted whoever was running that particular experiment to isolate the original DNA strand from what she said was 'an unsightly and terrible variant of a noble species'. Scratch's brows furrowed ever so slightly. This was, as the paper stated, complete and utter twaddle. Nobody, not even the great Doctor Scratch, could recreate a strand of DNA without knowing what the original looked like. There was no way to know what mutations had occurred, if indeed they _had _occurred. For all Her Imperious Condescension knew, the red color could be a result of a previously unknown recessive gene. Scratch shook his head and replaced the paper. _'I'll cross that bridge when I get there.' _With that done, he pulled the microscope and phials back toward him and started his work.

Two hours later, Regina entered the lab. At first, Doctor Scratch took no notice of her, as he was busy with his viruses. She had to tap his shoulder to get his attention, and that ticked him off. "I do hope this is important, Regina. I am in the middle of a _highly _important-"

"I know you are," she interrupted, a mite testily, "but the first bus has arrived, Scratch."

Immediately Scratch's irritation evaporated. "Really? Well, we must greet them, then!" He was about to sweep out of the lab when a thought occurred to him. "Regina, are the interns awake?"

She pursed her lips. "How would I know if they were awake or not?"

"Check, if you're not sure, and get them up if they're not!" he snapped. "They need to be awake for this, goddammit!"

Regina recoiled at the unexpected ferocity in Doctor Scratch's usually calm and cool tone, but she quickly regained her own collected manner and hurried off toward the dorms. Meanwhile, Scratch was rushing off for the front doors, calling out to any and all who might be in earshot:

"The test subjects are here! Get ready, the test subjects are here!"

* * *

After almost three whole days of travel, the aged yellow bus was finally closing in on its destination. Buses of its kind had been taken out of circulation nearly thirty years previously, but it was the best the orphanage could afford at the time. Over fifty children were crammed into the aged bus; most of them had to sit three to a seat to keep the aisle clear. Quite a few children were looking around nervously, while others were whimpering and clutching ragged old toys.

One particular seat housed a pair of twins, about eight or nine years of age, making them among the oldest on the bus. Neither of them really knew what was going on-who did?-but they were both taking this differently. The eldest twin gibbered incoherently and kept making attempts to flee into the aisle, while the younger held him back and threw dark glances out the window. He didn't like what was coming, but he was smart enough to keep calm. Getting upset this late in the game wouldn't help their situation one bit. They would just have to make the best of their situation, as they had in the orphanage.

Unfortunately, the eldest twin didn't have the capacity to act like his brother. As they passed out of the city and into the desert, he started gabbling again. "Ah don' like this!" he yelled. A bit of saliva dribbled down his chin as he howled and wriggled. "Wanna go home! Ah wanna go hoooome! Lemme go! Lemme go!"

"It'th all right, MT," the other twin soothed. "It'll be okay, you'll thee." He had no idea whether or not this was true, but at this point he'd say anything to mollify his brother.

It didn't seem to work very well; his twin just started crying instead. "I want Dad! Where'th Dad? Daddy? Don' know where they are! Help help help help help HELP!" He scrabbled to escape to the aisle, and again his twin hauled him back.

"MT, you know Dad and Daddy are dead," he said, with more than a little quaver in his voice. "Remember, MT? They were in their car and it thlid off a bridge and into the water. The polithemen told uth, remember?"

"No no no no no no no no no no…" Tears were now coursing down the older twin's face, and he started rocking back and forth while clutching his head. His hair, which was so long and scraggly it completely obscured the top half of his face, was soon completely soaked with tears and stuck in great clumps to his round cheeks. "Don' believe it, not true, not true, not true, make it go'way, make it go'way Thol!"

"Make him shut up!" one of the other kids whined. "God, he's so _annoying._"

The younger twin scowled at this offender, his brows furrowing angrily over his mismatched brown and green eyes. "Leave him alone, jerkfathe!" he spat. "You know he'th different!"

"You mean stupid," somebody else called out.

"Thut up!" he shouted back. "He'th not thtupid!"

"QUIET BACK THERE!" the bus driver bellowed. "I'M TRYING TO DRIVE!"

Silence descended over most of the bus, but the elder twin kept on crying. The other kids were throwing dirty looks in their direction, but refrained from saying anything lest they incur the bus driver's wrath. Even the younger twin seemed to be losing his patience with his brother. "C'mon, MT," he grumbled. "You're making a thene."

MT took absolutely no notice. "Dadth dead, no no, can't be dead, not dead, Thol not happy argh argh ARGH!"

Finally the younger twin lost patience. "Jutht THUT UP already!"

MT's wails stopped with the suddenness of a switch being thrown. He looked fearfully at his brother, and the younger twin felt his anger ebb as suddenly as it had come. "I'm thorry," he mumbled. "You know I didn't mean it, MT."

"Thol not happy, 'tuna thupid, everybody thays tho, nobody want 'tuna bluh bluh BLUH!" In a sudden fit of rage, the elder twin started flailing about, snarling and clawing at the fake leather seats.

"MT-Mituna-calm down!" the younger twin cried. Mituna either did not heed him or was too far gone to listen. Many children squealed and ducked down in their seats as Mituna managed to break free of his brother and charged out into the aisle. "Mituna, NO!" The younger twin leaped out of his seat and tried to wrestle his brother back into it.

"No naw narigh nprph NRRRGH!" Mituna opened his mouth as wide as he could and bit his brother's hand with all his might. Although it hurt like hell and made the boy's eyes water furiously, he ignored the pain and dragged Mituna back onto the seat. It was not the first time his brother had bitten him, and it wouldn't be the last.

"What the hell's going on back there?" the bus driver roared. "More shenanigans?"

"Please, Mr. Sir," one of the kids squeaked, "it's those twins, sir. One of them's gone mad, sir."

"Keep a handle on him until we get to the facility! I don't need no shenanigans on my bus!" The surly bus driver turned his attention back to the winding desert road, and the other occupants fell silent once more, though more than one of them turned a surly eye toward the twins.

Mituna was calming down now, as he always did after one of his mood swings. Their dads had been so much better at keeping him calm and happy; something the younger twin had only started appreciating after their death. It was twice as difficult for him to deal with an emotional Mituna, seeing as he was also on the verge of violent emotional changes whenever his twin went through one. How had their fathers ever coped with two bipolar kids? It made the younger twin wonder whether or not it was really worth trying to do it by himself. Then his twin let out a low sob, and he knew what his answer was.

"Thorry, thorry, thorry," he was moaning. "Hurt Thollux thorry!"

Thollux-or rather, Sollux-sighed once and pulled his twin closer to him. "It'th okay, MT. Didn't even hurt." This was a lie, but it seemed to comfort his brother nonetheless. "We'll be okay, MT, tho long ath we thtick together."

"Thol and 'tuna thtick together," he repeated. "Like, yeth, yeth, we do, thtick together!" He nodded eagerly, a rather silly smile spreading over his partially obscured face.

At that moment, the bus screeched to a halt. There was a great _whoosh _of released air pressure, and then the doors were swinging open. Glad to have reached the end of their journey, the kids started to disembark. "HOLD ON!" the bus driver howled, and every single child in the bus froze in place. "I have to give you your papers!"

Every child was then forced to exit the bus single file and quite slowly, as the bus driver gave them a folded bunch of papers. Sollux took his and Mituna's in one hand and kept firm hold of his brother with the other. Mituna wasn't as eager as he was to leave the bus; since he couldn't go home, he had apparently decided to just stay where he thought it was safe. He complained incessantly as Sollux dragged him toward the exit. Although Sollux couldn't blame him as he caught sight of the white buildings behind the high wire fence. He'd never seen a less welcoming place in his life. For one brief moment, he felt a flicker of fear in his heart. Then he swallowed, grasped Mituna's sweaty hand tight in his, and walked on.

* * *

_BOOM. BOOM. BOOM._

With a great gasp, Jane leaped out of her bed and stood blinking stupidly in the middle of the dorm room. To her right, Roxy was struggling to disentangle herself from her blankets; she was muttering wildly to herself, though Jane couldn't hear what she was saying. For one moment, Jane thought she might be dreaming, and then-

"Hurry up and get dressed, you lot! You're expected in the entrance hall in five minutes!" She recognized the owner of the voice as that of the man who had driven her and Roxy to this place, and boy did he sound _pissed. _Wasting no time, she hurried over to her dresser and started rummaging for clothes, pulling on whatever seemed most reasonable to wear. As soon as she thought she looked decent, she hurried out of the room, pausing just long enough to shove one of the room keys into her pocket.

The halls of their building were an absolute mess. People kept colliding with each other as they rushed into the hall, and most of them were trying to pull clothes on as they went. Jane and Roxy met up with Dirk and Jake in the last hall before the door. Jake looked just as confused as Jane felt, but Dirk looked completely unruffled, both in manner and garment.

"Do either of you know what the bloody hell's going on?" Jake grumbled.

"Fuck no," Roxy mumbled back. "An' stop shoutin'…I've got the _worst _hangover of all time…"

They didn't talk again until they reached the main entrance hall of the main building, where the majority of their peers were already gathered. Many of them looked just as confused as them, while others were busy swapping rumors of what might be happening. Jane and Dirk, being the most aware of the group, started asking questions, and gathered that absolutely no-one had any inkling of what the hell was happening. Then Doctor Scratch walked into the foyer, and everyone fell silent.

"Now, as I'm sure y'all are wondering, I didn't get you up merely to suit the whims of my admittedly unusual manner. Some, ah, very important people are arriving today, and I wanted you ready to greet them." There was a hint of excitement in Doctor Scratch's voice, though his face was completely emotionless, as usual. "You'll receive your instructions as soon as they have been…sorted."

"Soon as who's been sorted?" Roxy whispered.

"No idea. They didn't mention anything about guests." Jane's brow furrowed as she considered this new information. "Could they be more students?"

"No," Dirk said. "They did a head count of everybody here, and there's fifty of us. When they interviewed us, they said there was only room for fifty interns."

"Then everybody's here already."

"So who the hell's coming here?" Jake asked incredulously. "I can't imagine he'd invite anybody _here, _seeing as he said this was delicate whatsit."

"God only knows." Jane shrugged halfheartedly and turned her attention back to Doctor Scratch, who looked like he was about to start on another rant.

"Now, if I'm not mistaken, the first of our guests has already arrived, so if you'll proceed to the entrance of the facility…" He turned about and started walking away, gesturing for the interns to follow him. Even though they were still confused and more than a little disgruntled, they followed him like sheep after their shepherd. Jake, Roxy, Dirk and Jane stayed in one tight-knit group; they had known each other for only a few short hours, yet they already trusted each other like old friends did. Jane kept looking around as if the 'guests' would pop out of trashcans or jump from behind doors, Roxy looked straight ahead and rubbed her temples from time to time, Jake seemed completely confused by this whole turn of events, and the only evidence Dirk even gave a shit was the slight furrow forming between his pale brows.

It was early enough in the morning that the sun wasn't too high in the sky, but its shining radiance still blinded the mostly asleep college kids. Grumbling and scrubbing furiously at their eyes, they milled about the facility's entrance, wondering what the heck Doc Scratch meant by 'guests'. Just when most of them were ready to turn about and murder the smug asshole, they heard a rumble approaching the gates of the facility. All thoughts of sleep and murder were forgotten as the excited interns craned their necks to see what was coming.

An ancient yellow school bus slowly trundled into the facility's main entrance. As if it had been expecting it, the gate opened automatically and allowed the bus to enter without having to give a code. It creaked and groaned as it swung about and stopped. There was a great _pssh _of releasing pressure, an even greater squeal, and the chipped doors swung open. While the interns could see movement on the bus, they did not know who it could be.

At first, Jane thought it had to be some sort of joke. About fifty or so school-aged children were slowly descending from the bus, looking around them with a mixture of confusion and fear. Some of them clutched toys of some sort, but all of them had crisp white papers. They shuffled forward, obviously unsure of what to do.

Some of Doctor Scratch's thugs were now moving behind the children and had started to shepherd them away from the aged yellow bus. "Get along now!" one of them bellowed. "Get! Get!" Many of the children squealed and started jogging toward the main building.

"What are they here for?" Jane whispered.

"No idea," Roxy whispered back. "Whazza buncha kids doin' here?"

"It's fucking weird," Dirk said. "Something's not right."

At that moment, one of the kids tripped and landed with an unpleasant thud. One of the men-Crowbar, Jane thought-strode over and pulled him up by the scruff of his neck. "Get up, you little shit! There's no time for resting where you're going!" The poor boy nodded fervently, tears forming in his bright blue eyes as he squeezed his only possession; a beaten and filthy stuffed rabbit.

Jane wanted to charge forward and shout "Leave him alone, he didn't do anything!" but she remembered Doctor Scratch's threats, as well as Cans' dire warnings (not to mention his huge arms), so she stayed put. She ground her teeth and glowered at Crowbar, but she did nothing to help the little boy. Self-loathing welled deep within her and tears glimmered in her own eyes, but she did not move. Roxy was shaking her head at the thugs' attitude, but she didn't seem to notice Jane's dilemma.

Doctor Scratch, meanwhile, was beaming like the children were an unexpected Christmas present. He opened his arms and said, "Welcome to my humble facility, children! As some of you may know, I am Doctor Scratch, the man responsible for lifting you from your dreary lives and into the annals of history! What you will experience here will undoubtedly change the world as you know it!"

None of the kids seemed at all reassured by this. If anything, they looked more worried than ever. One child in particular was freaking out in a very vocal and violent way. Many of the others were glaring at him, but none of them did anything to help him, save for the child standing right next to him. He had a firm grip on his upper arm and was muttering in his ear. The interns noticed them and whispered to each other; what was going on here?

"Now, if you'll all form a single file line," Doc Scratch ordered, "so that we can begin processing." The kids hesitated for a moment, but were then urged to form a single file line by the suited men standing behind them. They shuffled forward slowly, each child lagging behind as they approached the forbidding doors. The interns automatically shifted to the sides to let the kids pass through to the door, and the whispering increased as they trudged on through. Jane's eyes were drawn to the little boy who'd been accosted by Crowbar. He was small, barely seven or eight years of age, and wearing the same square glasses Jake did. His hair was scruffy and stood up all over his head. He wore a white t-shirt with a green ghost emblem, white shorts and tennis shoes. The ragged bunny was squished tightly against his tummy and he didn't seem able to let it go. _'Poor little guy.' _

They were slowly herded into the facility and started to go through the same process the interns had, except Doctor Scratch was standing next to the very last invasive machine. As the kids finished being scanned, he took their papers and examined them for a short time. The interns had filed back in through the doors at this point, and the quartet was just close enough to hear what he was saying.

Doctor Scratch had just received papers from a set of twins who, now that they looked at them, turned out to be the boys who had been struggling in the group. The boy with the shaggy hair kept looking around like something would jump out at him and yell "BOO!" and his twin was having a hard time keeping him calm. Doctor Scratch read their papers with mild interest and looked down at the boys.

"So y'all are twins?" he asked politely.

"Yeth," the boy with the shorter and tamer hair replied. "We are. I think it thayth we need to thtay together."

One of Doctor Scratch's pale brows arched slightly. "Do you now?"

"Yeth, we do! MT needth me; he won't rethpond to anybody elthe. He'th…he'th not like otherth." The boy swallowed and pulled his brother closer to him. "Pleathe tell me we'll be able to thtay together."

Before Doctor Scratch could reply, his brother suddenly cried, "Thol Ah wanna go home! Home Thol home home don't wanna thtay here bad place bad!" A strand of saliva slowly made its way down his chin as he cried, and he struggled against his brother's grasp. "No no don't thtay run run!"

"Thtop it, Mituna! It'll be okay!" Looking quite agitated himself, the boy clutched his brother's arms so tightly his knuckles turned white. "Jutht calm down!"

"Hmm…well, I'm afraid I can't allow you to stay together," Doctor Scratch told them.

"What?! But…but he needth-"

"Your brother needs help, child, and he won't get it if your babysitting him all the time." He scribbled something on the boys' papers with a ballpoint pen and tossed it onto a nearby desk. "From now own, y'all will respond to these call numbers." He pointed to Mituna and said, "Yours is 0413MTNA, and yours," here he gestured to the other brother, "is 0612SLLX. That is my final word on the matter, boys. Now off you go." He dismissed them with a wave of his hand, his eyes already moving to the next kids in line. The twins were very upset by this impeding separation, but they could not complain; two of Doctor Scratch's thugs were looking at them in a threatening and scary way. Heads down and eyes filling with tears, they trudged forward.

The next boy in line happened to be the blue-eyed boy Crowbar had berated. Jane perked up as he approached Doctor Scratch and held out his papers. His entire arm was trembling with fright. Doctor Scratch seemed not to notice this as he unfolded the papers and examined them. "What's your name?" he asked, even though it was right there on the paper.

"J-John," the boy stuttered. "John E-E-Egbert."

"Hmm…well, John, you'll be answering to a call number during your stay in the facility. It's 0413JHNE; easy enough to remember, right?" John nodded frantically; Jane's heart went out to the poor little frightened boy. "Off you scoot, 0413JHNE." The doctor let out a soft laugh as the boy practically sprinted away from him, his ragged bunny clutched tightly to his chest.

"Be right back," Jane muttered, and took a step in the direction the children were going.

"Ms. Crocker, did I give you permission to leave?" Doctor Scratch's voice was very soft, yet it carried more gravitas than the loudest shout. He glanced at her; his cold blue eyes seemed even colder when he was angry. "I don't remember giving you permission to leave."

"With all due respect, sir-"

"Naturally, that means you're going to give me all the disrespect you can in a civilized manner," he interrupted. "You have not been dismissed yet, Ms. Crocker, so you will stay put."

"Sir, those kids are frightened! They need someone there to-"

"Enough." There was enough venom in the word, and in the doctor's eyes, to silence Jane completely. He raised his head a couple of degrees and stared at her imperiously. "One thing you should learn, and learn quickly, is that my word is _law. _Disrespect that law, and you'll find yourself between a rock and a hard place, Ms. Crocker. Am I clear?"

"Crystal," Jane muttered.

"Good." Doctor Scratch smirked triumphantly at the defeated youngster. "Don't worry, Ms. Crocker. I am, if nothing else, a most gracious host. While you obey the rules of my house, we will be the best of friends." He turned away from her and started processing the next child in line.

"What a jerk," Roxy whispered. "Actin' so high an' mighty."

"What the hell are we doing here, Roxy?" Jane whispered back. "What have we gotten ourselves into?"

"That," said Dirk, "is an excellent fucking question."

"Hear, hear," Jake agreed. "And what the bloody hell are these kids doing here?"

"I don't know, but I don't trust what that two-bit doctor says. 'Guests' my ass." Jane glanced back behind her; her mind was still on that scruffy-haired boy with the bunny. "What does he want them for?"

"Well, can' be for anythin' too-" Roxy stopped in midsentence, her mouth hanging open in a perfect comical O. "Oh my fucking god."

"What is it, Ro-Lal?" Jane reached out and shook her friend slightly. It didn't seem to help; all the blood drained out of Roxy's already pale face. "C'mon, don' t hold it in, Roxy. Tell us."

"Well, remember what he said 'bout this being the site of an experiment?" Everybody nodded in unison. Roxy looked around and leaned forward slightly. "What does ev'ry test need?"

Jane and Jake still seemed confused, but Dirk's pale brows had arched over his shades as soon as Roxy asked the question. "You can't be fucking serious."

"I am."

"Can someone please explain what's going on?" Jane asked.

"Janey girl, open your eyes." Roxy gestured toward the line of children waiting to be processed. "These kids aren't guests."

"I figured out that much, Ro-Lal. So what's your-"

"Jane," Dirk interrupted, "the kids are the fucking test subjects. They're gonna be what Doc Scratch tests all his shit on. They're the motherfucking _lab rats._"

Though this idea had not escaped Jane, she still felt the awful shock wash over her like a tidal wave. Her eyes were drawn back to the orphans still in line; most of them were crying now, and many others looked like they were trying to curl up like hedgehogs, trying to hide without looking like they were trying to hide. Their plight either did not register with Doc Scratch, or he was ignoring it completely, because he had that same soft and uncaring smile as yesterday evening when he told them all of his experiment. She thought of the twins and of John Egbert, and felt a wave of nausea sweep over her.

"That's sick," she managed to say. "That's…_really _sick."

Nobody replied to this statement, though they all agreed with it. They simply stood there and watched the kids march on past, completely unaware of what was in store for them. Then again, they didn't know themselves, which brought to mind a simple yet poignant question:

'_What the hell is Doctor Scratch planning?'_


	4. Overview

Three hours after the first group of children had been processed, another bus pulled up in front of the facility. Two hours after that, three buses arrived, all carrying more than fifty kids each. By the end of the day, over one thousand children were crammed into the hall where Doctor Scratch had first presented himself to his interns. The aforementioned interns all stood along the walls, most of them wondering what the heck was going on. There was a low level of nervous chatter amongst the children, and more than one of the smaller kids were crying. Doc Scratch's thugs stood along the walls, ready to take care of any problem that might arise, be it from the children or from the interns. Regina was standing at the microphone, clipboard in hand, waiting for Doctor Scratch to arrive.

At last, at eight o'clock on the dot, Doctor Scratch walked onto the stage. Everyone fell silent as the doctor strode over to the mike and tapped it experimentally. "Hello my dear children," he intoned. There was a smile on his face that, as usual, did not reach his icy blue eyes. "Welcome to your new home. I hope that our time together will be long and prosperous."

A hand rose amongst the children. As one, children, interns and thugs alike turned to face the boy, who blushed and slowly retracted his hand. Already the center of attention due to his wheelchair, further spotlighting made him extremely nervous. "Uh…what are we doing here, exactly?" he managed to ask. His eyes were fixed on the floor, as if looking at Doc Scratch would cause him to spontaneously combust. Several titters broke out at his faltering manner, but they were silenced immediately when Doctor Scratch cleared his throat.

"An excellent question…hm, 0612TVRS, was it? Anyway, y'all will be furthering the cause of science; one of the greatest and most illustrious jobs there is." He grinned at them; many children whimpered and ducked down in their seats.

"Wait, so we're _not _being adopted?" one girl asked.

"If by that you mean y'all have parents now, no, y'all weren't adopted, 0413RSLA." At the sight of the kids' crestfallen faces, he elaborated. "Think of it like this, y'all: instead of two mere humans adopting you, science itself has welcomed you into its great and all-encompassing arms. Doesn't that sound much better than what a measly human could offer?"

Over on the sidelines, Roxy gave a derisive snort. Jane elbowed her in the side and strained to hear what Doctor Scratch was saying. When Roxy shot her an offended look, she mouthed, "I know, but let's listen."

Most of the kids looked about as impressed with Doc Scratch's statement as Roxy did, while others just looked confused. Nobody dared speak up this time, so Scratch continued on. "Y'all will sleep in ten separate wings; these will be determined by the number in front of your call sign. At the start of each day, y'all will find the members of your group and y'all will report to your group leader. Your group leader will be one of these fine people along the walls," he gestured to the interns, "and they will also be determined by the number in front of your call sign. They will have authority over you, so y'all listen to what they have to say."

Doc Scratch took the microphone from the stand and began to pace back and forth as he continued his spiel. "At the beginning of each day, your group leader will run some basic tests on y'all. Don't be afraid," he said, for some kids had let out squeals of fear at the sound of 'tests', "it's nothing too serious. After they're done with the tests, y'all will go to one of the computer rooms to receive your education. Yes, I am planning to school y'all, so don't get complacent. After your schooling is complete, y'all will have lunch and some time for recess. At the end of each week y'all will have a test over what y'all've learned, and I certainly hope y'all pass." By the end of this little speech, most of the kids were looking at each other with varying expressions of horror on their faces.

If they thought Doc Scratch was done yet, they were sadly mistaken. "One more thing, children; while I know y'all are eager to further the cause of science, I'm afraid y'all have to wait a little while. You see, I haven't quite gotten to where I want to be yet, so until then, be _good_ little children." The relish in his voice when he said this made most of the interns shiver, though it passed over most of the kids' heads like water. "Alright, that's it for now. Boys?" The thugs straightened and stared at Doc Scratch. "Please escort the children to the cafeteria. Dinner will be served in thirty minutes, and in the meantime, you can find your sleeping arrangements." He waved his hand in a rather dismissive way, and then he was off, walking away from the microphone with Regina at his heels.

At first, the children milled about, not sure of what they should be doing. Then Doc Scratch's men started ushering them out of the hall, herding them as one might herd chickens. Still looking just about as frightened as they had before, the kids moved in as tight a clump as they could muster with their numbers. The men followed after them, and after a few seconds deliberation, the interns started trailing out after them.

Doctor Scratch might have been many things, but a cheapskate he was not. He had hired honest to God cooks to prepare the meals in the cafeteria, and the smell of food wafted down the hallways of the facility. This familiar and heartwarming smell caused most of the children to perk up immediately. While they were still frightened of this strange and unwelcoming place, the smell of food was enough to take their minds off their troubles for the time being. Moving a little faster now, the clump of kids pattered down the hallway.

The cafeteria was much like the rest of the building; cold, unwelcoming whiteness. Fifty long tables sat in two rows against the sides of the wall, with one stretch of white tile seemingly stretching toward infinity between the mock wood tabletops. There were two open doors in the far wall, and it was from there that the food smell was emanating. Before the kids could so much as twitch, Cans strode forward and stood in the middle of the hall.

"Right, you lot!" he bellowed. "Don't you all go sitting down at once. There are posters posted in there," he pointed at the doors, "an' they'll tell ya where ta sit. If I catch ya sittin' somewhere ya shouldn't…" He cracked his sausage-like fingers menacingly. Every child swallowed once and stood stock still. He raised one thick eyebrow at them. "Well, what're you waiting for? Go to it!"

Like ants from a trodden hill they scattered, heading for the doors in a massive tidal wave of tiny feet. There was a moment's blockage as twenty children tried to enter at once, but a line soon formed as they crammed themselves into the tiny hall. One by one they emerged from the little room, a tray of food clutched in their hands, and started traipsing off to find their tables.

Jane elbowed Roxy and muttered, "Do you think there's a chance of us getting fed soon? I don't know about you, but I'm rather peckish."

"Dunno," Roxy whispered back. "Food would be nice about now."

One of the suited men heard them and turned around. "You will be dining with Doctor Scratch tonight," he told them. "After that, you will dine in here with your charges three times a day, seven days a week."

"Then what are we standing around here for?" one of the other interns grumbled.

The man turned toward them and scowled threateningly. "You haven't been dismissed yet, sunshine. Now be quiet."

The interns fell silent and watched the steady progression of children marching through the hall. The numbers of children without food were dwindling slowly but steadily, and the tables were filling up as more and more kids filed to their seats. Unlike most cafeterias, this one was completely silent as the children started eating their dinner. It added to the eerie and unwelcoming feel of the room, and more than one intern wished they could exit while the going was good.

When the last child was seated, another one of the suited thugs moved forward. He was shorter than his comrades by several heads and looked about as substantial as your average sheet of tissue paper. "Dear children," he chirruped; his voice was at least an octave higher than his fellows, "I hope you find your meal invigorating! However, you have but half an hour to finish and clean your places, or what will happen to you, I cannot say!" He let out an almost girlish giggle at this that, in any other circumstance, would have made Jane laugh, too. As it was, she barely managed to tamp down her smile. "Now, if the interns would follow me." He sashayed to the doors, and everybody made to follow him.

"Who's that little prick think he is, anyway?" one of the interns muttered.

"I don't think-I know I happen to be Felix Greene, better known by my cohorts as Clover." The little man-Clover-swiveled on the heels of his feet to fix the unlucky man with a piercing stare. "And with another outburst like that, why, you probably won't know who _you _are in the future." He let out another giggle. "Doctor Scratch has his way with those who cross him, as do my friends."

A collective shudder went through the group. Not for the first time, they wondered what they had gotten themselves into, and, more importantly, if they were going to get out of it in one piece. Could they survive the cruelty of Doctor Scratch and his well-dressed army of thugs? They'd been confident before, but now they weren't so sure.

Unfortunately for them, the trouble was only just beginning.

* * *

"This is unacceptable!"

Doctor Scratch was enraged. It was unusual for him to show any emotion at all, but now his eyes were blazing with wrath and spittle was starting to trail down his chin as he shouted. His coat flapped behind him as he paced the length of his lab like a lion trapped in the confines of a cage. Regina was standing near the door, her hands clasped behind her back. Though she hid it well, she was wary of Doctor Scratch and ready to bolt at the first sign of violence.

"May I ask what you find so unacceptable?" she asked cautiously.

"Your work!" he bellowed. He held up one fist, and Regina flinched back instinctively. Then she saw the crushed manila folder in his hand, well worn and beaten as if he had crushed it and unfolded it many times. "I can't believe you would make so foolish a mistake, Ms Noire!"

She bristled, a little of her own irritation flickering across her face. "Excuse me, but I don't see why you should be so mad," she snapped. "I have done everything you've asked of me, and beyond. If something is wrong, you shou-"

"Something is wrong, all right!" He threw the envelope down on the table; it skidded several inches before coming to rest before Regina. "Read it," he growled. "Read it and tell me why it's _your _mistake."

She gingerly lifted the folder and opened it. Inside were several sheets of paper concerning one of their new charges. She flipped through them uninterestedly until she reached a sheet she hadn't seen in the other files; it looked like a medical history report. It was but the work of a moment to scan the document and find what was angering Scratch so mightily.

" 'Diagnosis: Bronchioloalveolar carcinoma'," she read. "But…doesn't that mean…"

"Lung cancer," Doctor Scratch snarled. "I specifically asked you, Regina, not to pick any sick children. Healthy specimens, I said. Pinnacle of their generation, I said. And what do I get? Brain damaged, wheelchair bound, carcinogenic brats!" Doctor Scratch suddenly lashed out; his fist hit the polished counter with a tremendous _BANG. _Regina actually jumped back several feet, and consequently crashed straight into the door. This louder _BANG _jolted Doctor Scratch out of his dark mood and back into the present. He straightened and brushed the lapels of his coat.

"Do forgive me, Regina," he sighed. His genteel manner was firmly in place again, it seemed. "I didn't mean to lose my temper like that. This…_setback _is unfortunate, but perhaps it may work to our advantage." He took out a handkerchief and started wiping his hands with it. "Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?"

Regina stared blankly at him for several seconds before remembering what it was she had come here to tell him. "You wanted to see the interns, sir. They are gathered in the recreation parlor and await your arrival."

"Well then…" Doctor Scratch put his best nonchalant smile on and crossed over to the door. "Let's greet the masses." Looking for all the world like an emperor striding out into his kingdom, the doctor walked out into the hallway and started toward his parlor, Regina tagging along behind him like an obedient shadow.

The recreation parlor was for Doctor Scratch and his men, but today he was making an exception; it was an excellent place to talk to the interns without fear of the kids overhearing. Plus it would establish him as the head honcho around here. Though, he thought with a small smile, he thought they had gotten that idea pretty well on their own.

Two double doors stood at the end of a small offshoot of hallway, and it was through these that Doctor Scratch now went. The white tiles ended at the door, replaced by plush green carpets. The wallpaper was done in his favorite shade of bright green, and there was at least two clocks on every wall. Plump couches and overstuffed chairs sat around an LCD television, and it was on these that the interns were perched. Some of them looked confused, others looked bitter, while some looked outright jealous. The men standing around the perimeter of the room kept them from vocalizing their discontent, though.

"I hope y'all are comfortable," Doctor Scratch purred. Two strides later, he was standing in front of the TV, right in the center of the mass of chairs. He stared around with those icy blue eyes of his before starting up again. "I suppose y'all are wondering why I called y'all here." There was a soft murmur of assent that quickly died away as Scratch continued to stare at them. "I am here to give you, as the common people say, 'the rundown'. You will follow these instructions throughout the duration of this experiment, or risk being thrown out of this building.

"You will wake up at seven o'clock every morning and make your way down to the dormitories. There you will collect your group and escort them to the cafeteria for breakfast. You will dine with them there, and when y'all are done, you will take them down to your assigned medlab to run a complete physical examination on them. This must be done every day until I tell you otherwise. When y'all are done, you will take them to your assigned computer lab, where they will have their lessons for the day. Stay with them until the lessons are finished. If I find out you've been shirking, well, I won't be responsible for my men's actions." A low throaty chuckle emanated from the men standing around the room, while the interns shifted awkwardly in their seats. "When the lessons are complete, you will take your charges to lunch. After lunch, you will accompany them to the gymnasium for one hour's worth of recess. Make sure nobody gets hurt during this time, or I will not be pleased. Directly after recess the charges will return to the medlabs for more testing before getting an hour of free time in their dorm. You will not have to supervise them during this time, provided you leave them in one of the assigned rooms. After free time, they will have dinner. Bedtime will be eight o'clock sharp. No exceptions." Doctor Scratch's smile had evaporated as he talked, and his eyes were so cold they burned like dry ice. "Have I made myself perfectly clear?"

"What about the special kids?" Jane managed to pipe up. "Like the boy in the wheelchair, I mean."

"What about them?" Doctor Scratch countered.

"Will they get any special treatments?"

"Why should they?" Doctor Scratch's pale brow was rising as he regarded Jane with a patronizing stare. "Don't you believe in true equality, Miss Crocker? They shouldn't be treated any differently than the others, should they?"

"That's…that's not…" Jane's words stuck in her throat as she contemplated what Doctor Scratch had just said. _'That…that horrible old tosser!'_

"Moving on," Doctor Scratch continued, "Every Saturday the children will have a test over what they've learned over the course of the week. If they fail, they will receive punishment. Whether it is a detention or something a little more…severe is up to you. Sunday will be your free day, as the subjects will spend the entire day with me." The edges of his mouth quirked at this, but otherwise Doctor Scratch's expression remained severe. "You are permitted to go to town on this day, provided you are back by eight o'clock and you tell no-one about this facility. Also, try not to indulge in too much debauchery. I'd hate to have to punish you.

"One last thing before I dismiss y'all." Doctor Scratch snapped his fingers, and one of the suited men came forward. He was tall and skinny, with eyes that bugged out of their sockets and a constant twitch in his movements. "Ichabod here is going to hand y'all a piece of paper; aren't you, Ichabod?"

"Please, b-boss," Ichabod muttered, "don't c-call me Ichabod." Jane thought he had a stutter until she saw that his twitches coincided with his 'impediment'.

"Sorry – Itchy will be handing each of you a slip of paper, on which you shall write the number of the subject you wish to select as the control."

"Control what?" one of the other interns asked.

Doctor Scratch let out a sad sigh. "Every experiment needs a control, and this one more than most, so each of you will select one child from your group to be the control. Whichever of these children you select will have the preliminary tests run on them, but nothing afterwards save physicals. If done properly, it will give us a baseline with which we can figure out whether or not the tests are effective." The edges of his lips lifted up in a cruel smile. "Before you ask, Miss Crocker, I will not accept the 'special' children as controls. I need healthy, average children as controls, not cripples and retards." His voice was nonchalant, bored even, which made his cruel delivery all the worse.

"I say," Jake piped up, "how do we know which kiddo we're going to pick if we don't know who our bally groups are?"

Doctor Scratch sighed again. "You'll turn in the papers tomorrow, Mister English. _After _you've met and evaluated your group. Speaking of," he checked his watch, "it's about time for you to meet your charges." Nobody reacted to this, so Scratch lifted one hand and gestured toward the door. "Off you go now. Wouldn't want to keep them waiting, hm?"

"C'mon, guys," Roxy muttered, "let's go meet the kiddies." She grabbed Jane's arm and started tugging her toward the door.

Once they were clear of the parlor, Jane vented some of her feelings. "That bloody bastard! Talking about children like they're…they're…I don't know, test tubes or chemicals or…or…urgh!"

"I know, Janey girl, I know. He's not exactly th'most endearing boss ever. Job's a job, though, an' I figger we c'n try to protect 'em." Roxy's voice sounded halfhearted, and it did nothing to lift Jane's spirits. Neither of the guys seemed to want to contribute, so she let it drop. "I guess we gotta go meet the squirts, then."

"Guess so," Dirk said.

By this time, the kids had been herded into the main hall again, though now they were in their separate groups. Jane's group consisted of about fifty different children, including, to her great surprise, the little blue-eyed boy and the brain-damaged twin. If she remembered correctly, they were called John and Mituna, or as Doctor Scratch would want her to call them, 0413JHNE and 0413MTNA. While the others milled about and shuffled their feet, she leaned down to greet the two boys. "Good day to you, my lovelies! I'm Jane Crocker, head of this whole kit and caboodle! Who might you fine gentlemen be?"

John looked up at her and managed a timid smile. "I'm John Egb…I-I mean, I'm 0413JHNE," he corrected. There was a hint of fright in his eyes, as if the mistake would cause one of Scratch's thugs would appear out of thin air. "It's nice to meet you, Miss Crocker."

"No, no, dear, just call me Jane." She smiled down at the youth and ruffled his already quite wild hair. "And I'll call you John. Would you like that?"

"I-I don't think you're allowed to." He looked around furtively, clutching his ragged bunny closer to his skinny chest. "Won't we get in trouble?"

At the mention of trouble, the brain-damaged twin started gabbling wildly. "No trouble, no trouble, can't can't can't won't no no no no nononononononNO!" Fists flailing and mouth drooling, he started thrashing about, still howling about like a deranged banshee.

"It's all right, Mituna!" Jane cried. "Nobody's going to hurt you!"

"Wan home home not here go home! Sol! Sollux Sol where are you? 'Tuna wanna go home!" One of Mituna's fists struck Jane's cheek, and boy did it sting. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she managed to grab first his left and then his right hands. This caused him further torment. "Lemme go lemme go LEMME GO!"

"Mituna, it is all right," she soothed. "Nobody is going to hurt you, least of all myself. You'll see your brother again, I promise."

Just as soon as it had started, Mituna's tantrum had stopped. He stared at her through mats of tangled hair and blinked dumbly. John, who had dived for cover as soon as Mituna had started writhing, now peeped over at him. The other kids were gathered around them, their tiny faces curious. One Indian-looking girl traipsed forward, her braids swishing like twin pendulums behind her back. "Is he done now?" she demanded imperiously.

"It's not his fault," Jane said defensively. She realized she was still holding Mituna's fists, and she quickly let him go. "He's…different."

"You mean he's retarded." The girl stared at Mituna like he was some sort of mold or slug or other unpleasant thing. "He's a stupid waste of space who can't tell up from down."

"That's incredibly rude!" Jane stared at the little girl in horror, her glasses sliding down her nose slightly as she shook her head. "You should feel ashamed of yourself, uh…"

"0413MNAH," she rattled off. "Not that anyone cares."

A tinny bell sounded as she said 'cares', making everybody in the room jump. "Bedtime!" Cans was bellowing. "Get off to bed, ya little squirts!" Some of the interns tittered at this, so Cans turned and shouted at them, too. "That goes for ya too, punks!"

"I'll…I'll see you tomorrow, guys." Jane tore herself away from the kids and watched as they were shepherded away by Clover and some of the other thugs. John's blue-eyed stare stuck in her mind as she walked back toward her dorm…he was so fragile-looking, so innocent, so _scared…_

'_I can't let that poor little chap become part of this experiment,' _she thought, and a new determination surged through her. _'I only wish I could do the same for Mituna. Poor bloke; Scratch won't let him be a control, though. No, it'll have to be John.' _Guilt welled up in her at the thought of the other forty-nine children in the group, but she managed to tamp it down for the time being.

Not for the first time, she wondered what sort of monster could call himself a doctor and pull off a scheme this heinous at the same time.

A monster called Scratch, perhaps?


End file.
